The Combat Lore of Captain Price
by scout zero
Summary: Captain Price had saved the world long before he was joined by Gaz and Soap MacTavish. He did so with the SAS, and he did so with complete stealth and secrecy. Now, his tale is finally revealed. Call of Duty 4 fanfic.
1. Prologue: Shaparov's Last Stand

**Shaparov's Last Stand**

The pitch dark night enveloped the grassy Russian plains. A young lone guard was circling a small townhouse cottage at the edge of a small village. He wore a red bandana over his face, with only a slit allowed for his eyes. An old bandolier was slung across his dusty camouflage uniform, and he was looking forward to the comforts of bed as he fingered his AK-47 sleepily. His commander was sure taking his time inside.

Of course, the guard knew what was going on inside the small village cottage he was pacing around. Deals were being made. The world's future was being shaped. His commander, Commander Desya Shaparov, was making a business deal that would give the Ultranationalist party unmeasureable power. The sleepy guard smiled at that thought, and began to hum an old Soviet war tune as he rounded a corner.

A shadow blurred, a knife appeared out of nowhere and was instantly slit across the guard's throat. The guard stumbled without a sound into the soft grass. The shadow hid his knife and inspected the body. A small lamplight revealed the features of the shadow. He was wearing dark body armor over black camouflage, and had an equally black scuba mask over his face. He was an SAS operative.

The SAS soldier looked behind his shoulder at a reasonable sized pond that was situated next to the cottage and nodded.

"Tango down."

As if on cue, four more SAS troopers slowly rose out of the pond.

They waded through the knee deep water and crawled onto the shore. The lead SAS operative turned to the assassin and exclaimed in an English accent, "Excellent knife work, Gilbert. He didn't know what hit him."

"I try my best, sir." Gilbert replied, unslinging his M4 carbine from his back.

The leader looked around the cottage and their surroundings, amused.

"I guess you needn't try. This man Shaparov is probably new around here, as he had to choose a house with no windows on it to do his dirty work." He remarked.

"Typical Soviet." Gilbert replied.

"Now, let's see if our prize in the target house. Watkins, upload the receiver. Rest of you, stay on watch for any kind of disturbance."

Watkins walked up to the cottage and ran his fingers alongside the wall. He found a small hole between two boards and bent down to listen. There was Russian chattering on the other side of the wall. Watkins uncoiled a thick, black wire from his backpack and slid the receiver into the hole. He put on some headphones and listened. He then pulled out a PDA and uploaded the sound into it. Sound waves scrolled across the screen. Watkins then rewound the wire and looked at his PDA.

"We've got a voice match, sir." He said. "Commander Desya Shaparov is confirmed inside the building."

"Good." The SAS commander replied, satisfied. "Big Bird, what is your ETA?"

"Gamma One, This is Big Bird. We're about five minutes outside your position. How much time will you need?" replied a deep, professional voice replied over the commander's headset.

"About two minutes for the entire operation."

"Roger that. We're closing in on the marked LZ about fifty meters from your position. Good luck. Big Bird out."

A click of sound and end of static signified the end of the communication. The SAS leader turned to his men.

"We'll go in hard and take Charlie down. However, leave Shaparov alive. Command wants him for interrogating. Injure him in the leg or something. Everybody copy?"

"Yes, sir." The four men acknowledged. They took up positions near the door.

The commander held up a hand. "Steady…"

Now was the chance. The tension began to rise. How many people were inside the cottage? Two? Four? Ten? Anything more than six Tangos was big trouble.

The commander took a deep breath. This could be the last feeling he ever felt. Fear.

"Steady…"

The other soldiers were all tense and waiting for the command. Watkins gripped his shotgun tighter. Gilbert was hugging his M4 like a baby.

"On my mark…"

The SAS commander could feel heat blossom on his face and bit his lip. It was now or never.

"Go!"

Yelling those words, the commander blasted both of the hinges on the door with his shotgun and kicked it down with one strong boot.

The SAS troopers rushed in, yelling. Commander Shaparov looked up from a map on a table in surprise. His two guards were surprised as well, but only for a second, as they were both cut down in a flurry of shotgun blasts and automatic weapons fire.

"There! That's him!" Gilbert yelled, and aimed his carbine at Shaparov's right leg.

Shaparov reached across the table in a vain attempt to grab his pistol. A puff of smoke shot out of his arm as well as his right leg, and he fell, yelping.

Everybody was shouting at once. Watkins was confused because there were only three hostiles in the building. Gilbert was threatening Shaparov with his carbine. A weakened Shaparov was trying to fight back, but couldn't, and was on the ground in a daze. The SAS commander was trying to keep order and attempting to contact Big Bird at the same time for evac.

"How the hell are there only three in here? And they're all from the same faction! Intel claimed there was a deal taking place!"

"Don't make me shoot you again, you barmy Russian!"

"Gilbert, come to your senses! Big Bird, we need evac now!"

"paashol v'chorte!"

"I think the deal has happened already!"

"Big Bird! Do you copy? Where the hell are you?"

"Shut up! You go to hell, you bitch!"

"Everyone, pipe down! I hear a noise!"

All the commotion disappeared, and they listened intently.

First, a rumble. Then came the distinct chain striking metal sound of tanks.

Russian shouting was heard outside, and Shaparov started laughing.

"I am never unprepared, you filthy Englishman."

Gilbert grabbed Shaparov by the collar and shoved the barrel of his shotgun into Shaparov's forehead.

"Stay silent or you shall die by my hand!"

"Gilbert, quiet!" The SAS commander looked around the room for another exit.

"These cottages don't come without underground cellars. Watkins, Grant, Give me some help."

The three soldiers began flipping over cabinets and chairs in search of a door that would lead them down to an escape.

"There is none." Shaparov smiled and stared the barrel of Gilbert's shotgun. "You might as well kill me now."

"Quiet, Shaparov! I'm in a nark mood today, so you better not bloody make my mood worse!"

Shaparov inclined his head.

"Oh really? You see, commando, those are not my forces."

Every SAS soldier in the room stared at Shaparov.

"What do you mean?" Asked the commander. Dread was beginning to build up.

Shaparov smiled again. "Those are units from the Soviet military. They are responding to a lead that would lead them to the terrorist Imran Zakhaev. However, they will not get that far."

The SAS commander slowly began to walk over to Shaparov.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" he asked again.

"With one blow, I shall wipe out thousands of Soviet troops, creating political instability in the Soviet government! The Cold War will escalate! The stakes will raise! A new order will arise!"

"Are you getting all of this, Big Bird?" The SAS commander turned on his radio. The Russian shouting was getting louder.

"I copy, but I have no idea what he's talking about. We'll have to reestablish contact with command."

"He's gone bloody crazy!" Gilbert steadied his aim on Shaparov's head.

"We can still make it," the commander looked around, "Big Bird, I'm changing the landing coordinates. The new LZ is in a clearing in the woods about five clicks from here. We'll have to avoid the Soviet troops to ensure nothing extreme happens."

"Roger that, Gamma One. I'm closing in."

Shaparov looked at Gilbert, gave him a face, and announced, "The deal was finished hours ago. I will now complete my side of the bargain. The world shall be changed! Forever!"

Gilbert spotted a small portable device in Shaparov's left hand. He immediately recognized what it was.

"WATCH IT! NUCLEAR DETONATOR!"

Gilbert made a lunged for it. Shaparov rolled aside and pushed the button.

The SAS commander looked on in horror.

A few miles away, the Chernobyl plant exploded.


	2. A New Mission

**Twenty hours later. SAS Base Camp in an undisclosed location.**

The Special Air Service, being the CIA of the United Kingdom, had developed a habit of not telling their operatives their missions until the very last minute, and that irritated Lieutenant Price. The young clean-cut soldier fired his M21 sniper rifle at a target one hundred miles away while lying prone on the concrete. The sound echoed throughout the room, and a small hole appeared in the center of the target's head.

Bullseye.

Price waited, and then fired again. This time, the shot missed and hit the wall behind the target. He curled his lip. Not what he wanted.

A figure stood behind him, watching.

"The first shot counts, Lieutenant. If you miss, you're in for a glaze." The man said in a recognizable Scottish accent.

Price looked behind him, startled, and got up to his feet, M21 slinged over his shoulder.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" he asked.

Captain Macmillan smiled and slid his M21 off his back, and proceeded to load it with a golden bullet before aiming it at the target Price was shooting at.

"I came to tell you about a new mission we're about to embark on. You've heard about the Chernobyl disasters, ay?"

"Yes, of course. It was on the radio this morning. Very sad news. I can't imagine how many people will die once the nuclear radiation settles in."

Captain Macmillan fired. A bullet hole ripped into the target two inches away from Price's first shot.

"The official record will report 56 immediate casualties as well as about 5,000 people who died later on from radiation poisoning."

"Official record?" Captain Price asked. "What are the actual casualty estimates?"

"Four Russian platoons were converging on the location when the reactor exploded. That's over two hundred men. Judging by how far they were from the blast, they will all be dead by next week." Macmillan reloaded his rifle.

"Four Red Army platoons? What were they doing so bloody close to a nuclear power plant?"

"To go after whom we went after." Macmillan aimed at the target again.

"Commander Shaparov." Price acknowledged.

Macmillan fired again. The bullet hit the target's head again, roughly two inches from his other shot.

Price frowned. "Didn't we send a squad over to Chernobyll to capture Shaparov?"

Macmillan didn't look up as he reloaded.

"Yes. The squad led by Commander Casper. We lost contact with them as soon as the explosion happened. An AC-130 gunship was also lost."

A surge of chilling emotions surged through Price. SAS troops and Red Army platoons? Did they all just simply die, just like that? Would he, Lieutenant Price, die just like they did? Unnoticed?

Macmillan looked up and put a gloved hand on Price's shoulder.

"Don't worry, lad. That type of gruesome death won't happen to you. Just follow my lead, and we'll get through the mission together."

"Oh, right. The mission." Price bit his lip. He hadn't had a real mission for a while. Mostly his missions were just easy sabotage work in Soviet territory.

"Come. I'll brief you on the way to the helicopter." Macmillan began to leave.

"Hold on, the mission is now?"

"Yes. Our helicopter is ready. Get in your ghillie suit and we'll be ready to leave for Prypiat."

Price noticed the leafy ghillie suit Macmillan was wearing for the first time. No wonder his commander looked a bit…hairy.

Price grinned. Maybe this next mission was going to be something after all.

--

**At the same time. In a cottage near Chernobyll.**

Private Gilbert tried to sit up, but he couldn't. His ears were ringing, and there was a stinging sensation on his face. He summoned up some strength to look around at his surroundings, and saw Shaparov's motionless body, dead presumably from the small explosion that rocked the cottage. Gilbert felt pain in his forehead, and rubbed it, trying to figure out what had happened to him.

The sound was becoming annoying. Gilbert managed to crawl to the table in the middle of the room and support himself as he stood up. He surveyed his surroundings.

Watkins was lying on the couch, dead. Dapier's body was on the floor a few feet away. Commander Casper and Private Koenig were nowhere to be found.

They must've survived and escaped, thought Gilbert murkily. He still couldn't think straight, and stumbled over to Watkins.

Gilbert found no physical damage on Watkins' body. The same was for Corporal Dapier.

Struggling to keep his balance, Gilbert thought things over.

There was a nuclear meltdown. That would explain the stinging sensation on his face and the ring in his ears Shaparov triggered it, attempting to spark a war between the USSR and the United States, as well as the United Kingdom. The village was probably abandoned, explaining the total emptiness of manmade sound. There is nuclear radiation all over this place. I can feel it. Then why am I still alive?

Gilbert collected his thoughts and collapsed next to the fallen door. The only way out of the cottage.

Where are the Soviet troops? He thought. Are they dead too?

Gilbert crawled out of the cottage on his knees. His hands slipped, and he fell down the small set of stairs leading up to the doorway. He closed his eyes, and then opened them. The first thing he saw was Private Koenig's dead body.

Gilbert summoned up more strength to crawl over to Koenig and examined his head. There was a bullet wound just above his ear. Gilbert ran his fingers over the wound. Self-inflicted.

Koenig must have killed himself, Gilbert thought. Should I do the same?

No, he reminded himself, I must live to fight another day. Buy some more time. I must do something meaningful before I die.

Gilbert rose up, took one step, and fell, exhausted.

Where was Commander Casper? He thought before he drifted off into darkness.


	3. All Ghillied Up

**Pripyat, Ukraine**

Lt. Price lay still in the long, wavy grass, and took a few deep breaths to control his pumping adrenaline. He cradled his M21 Suppressed sniper rifle close to his body. Captain MacMillan once told him to concentrate on a single stationary object when nervous, and Price did just that, concentrating on a single blade of grass in front of him.

"Too much radiation. We'll have to go around."

MacMillan's low voice cut through the suspenseful radio silence like a sword. The captain seemed to materialize in the wave of grass as he moved up to crouching position. Price copied his commander, and took up position behind MacMillan.

"Follow me, and keep low."

Price followed MacMillan step by step as they stealthily scampered towards a nearby shack. The ghillie suits made Price secure, for a moment.

"Careful. There's pockets of radiation all over this area. If you absorb too much, you're a dead man."

Price's heart sank for a brief moment as the two SAS soldiers reached the shack. MacMillan stopped, and waved a signal at Price. Price fell in step behind MacMillan.

"Stand by." The captain cautioned.

MacMillan hefted his weapon to his sights, and slowly moved through the little shack, looking around for possible enemies. Price followed, covering MacMillan's back. Nothing but silence.

MacMillan exited the shack and stopped. He waved a hand at Price.

"Contact. Enemy patrol dead ahead. Stay low, and move slowly. We'll be impossible to spot in our ghillie suits."

Price looked past MacMillan's shoulders, and noticed two Nationalist soldiers idly patrolling in front of an old farmhouse.

I couldn't have said it better myself, mused Price as he got down on his belly. MacMillan was already lying prone and edging closer to the two sleepy looking men.

The two disguised snipers waddled through the long grass with care, and stopped a few yards away from their unwary targets, who carelessly strode towards them, stopped, and began moving away, fingering their AK-47s and chatting.

"Take one out when the other's not looking." MacMillan's disembodied voice wafted through Price's helmet speakers.

Price leveled his sniper rifle, and chose the Nationalist to his right, a rather pudgy looking soldier who wore a sand colored beanie and a smug look on his face.

He waited for the opportune shot. The two men casually bid farewell and parted ways. The pudgy soldier went to the right, while the other soldier began his walk towards a small cottage tucked behind the farmhouse.

Price held his breath, counted to three, and fired.

The silenced slug pinched the chubby man in the neck, and the man twisted and fell into the soft grass without a sound.

The other soldier looked back to where his partner was just a few seconds ago, rose his AK-47 in puzzlement, and was silenced by a M21 round to the side of his head.

"Good night." MacMillan sounded pleased and stood up.

The two SAS moved swiftly to the edge of the farmhouse, with Price picking up an AK-47 from the pudgy soldier's dead body.

"Hold up." The senior member calmly looked in through the farmhouse and spotted a broken down car parked next to a tree in a small driveway. Another enemy soldier was pacing around the car, smoking a cigar. He looked over his shoulder at the cottage situated right next to the farmhouse.

"There's more cover if we go around." MacMillan stated. "Follow me, Lt. Price."

Price followed MacMillan as they snuck up to the small cottage. Russian voices sifted through the wall of the cottage, and Price could tell there were enemies in the building. MacMillan confirmed his suspicions.

"Four Tangos inside." The captain remarked quietly.

Price slinged his sniper rifle over his shoulder and raised the AK-47, ready to fire-

"Don't even think about it…" MacMillan addressed Price calmly but firmly.

"Sorry." Price replied, and switched back to his M21.

MacMillan pressed his back against the wall of the cottage and edged towards the driveway. He peered over the corner, saw the Russian still smoking by the car, and looked back at Price.

"Wait there. Tango by the car."

Price nodded, and steadily aimed his rifle at the Russian soldier.

"Sir?" He asked.

"Take him out quietly, or just let him pass. Your call," acknowledged MacMillan.

"Yes, sir," Price said. He had already made the decision to take out the bastard, and peered through his scope.

The crosshairs locked in on the target's head. Price held his breath.

One, two, three.

Price fired off a shot. The silver arrow streaked through the air without noise and hit the Russian straight in the back of his cranium. The dead man dropped his cigarette and jerked backwards, luckily missing the car in his fall.

They waited to see if the Nationalists inside the cottage responded to the shot.

"Okay…"MacMillan waited for a while. Then, sensing the coast was clear, he pointed two fingers at the open driveway in front.

"Go!"

MacMillan and Price hastily sprinted to the car and positioned themselves so that the car was between them and the cottage.

After making sure the Nationalists didn't suspect anything, MacMillan ran across the rest of the driveway and jumped over a small wooden fence. Price came in close behind. They ran and hid behind a tree, and Price could see a few buildings scattered around in front, with a church tower rising over an overgrown hedge.

"Don't move." MacMillan warned. He then added slowly, "We got a lookout in the church tower…and a patrol coming in from the north."

"Let's move up for a better view."

MacMillan and Price approached a high brush, concealing them from the lookout's view. The Nationalist paced around in the windowless church tower, unconcerned.

"Do you have a shot on the lookout?" MacMillan asked Price.

"Yes, sir." Price replied, aiming his crosshairs directly at the lookout, matching the target's every move.

"All yours," MacMillan acknowledged.

Price held his breath, waited for the unsuspecting soldier to walk right into his line of fire, and pulled the trigger. The lookout's head burst, and the corpse fell on the spot.

"Beautiful." MacMillan said admiringly before looking ahead.

"Target approaching from the north. Take him out quietly, or just him pass. Your call." He said to Price.

Price readjusted his sights and swiveled his sniper rifle left to face north. He could see another soldier casually walking towards them, looking away. Price held his breath, heard his racing heartbeat, and fired again. The soldier's chest jerked back and the rest of his body followed as he collapsed into an awkward position.

"Tango down. Go," ordered Captain MacMillan ordered, and got up to his feet. The two snipers ran towards the dead soldier's body, and MacMillan proceeded to strip the body clean of G3 rifle and ammo cartridges. He slung the G3 over his back and pocketed the extra ammo.

MacMillan and Price approached a wooden house. The captain held his M21 with one hand and slowly opened the door with his other, cautiously moving into the house. Price looked back at the carnage before backing up into the house behind MacMillan.

The pair slowly walked through a long dusty hallway, looking up to see light streaming in through square holes in the ceiling that illuminated more dust particles. Price took note that just two days ago someone had been living here.

They reached the end of the hallway, and a doorway that opened up to reveal a small cemetery outside. MacMillan scanned the cemetery for more enemies.

"Coast is clear." He pronounced, and stepped out of the house into the wild grass surrounding gravestones.

Price followed, and the two SAS men walked through the cemetery, tense. MacMillan looked up.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Enemy helicopter, get down!" MacMillan pushed Price down at the edge of the cemetery and hid beneath the shadow of a concrete fence.

"Stay in the shadows." MacMillan cautioned. Price heard the rhythmic sound of helicopter blades turning, and looked up to see a helicopter pass them by overhead.

MacMillan waited for the sound to fade, and got up.

"Let's go," he motioned to Price, and the two of them scampered out of the cemetery into a large wavy field.

After jumping over a small fence, they heard the helicopter again. This time though, the helicopter engine was standing by.

"Get down, now," said MacMillan, and both of them hit the grass.

MacMillan and Price slithered and weaved through tall grass towards the sound, and saw two to three tanks rumbling straight towards them with as many as twenty Nationalist soldiers following them on foot. The entire patrol was moving straight towards them.

Price tried to spot sizable gaps between the enemy soldiers, but couldn't find any. There was a chance that he or MacMillan could get stepped on. That would reveal their cover. If that didn't happen, there was a chance the tanks would run them over, and that would be worse. Price gulped. MacMillan was probably thinking the same thing, as silence hung over their frequency.

Price slowly slung his M21 over his back and pulled out the AK-47. Whatever was going to happen, he would be ready.


	4. Surrounded

The ground started shaking, and Price watched through his peripheral vision as pebbles bounced over the vibrating dirt. Without moving his head, his eyes turned to look forward.

Captain MacMillan was nowhere to be found.

Price felt his heart drop a little bit, and hoped the captain was far enough away.

If I'm discovered, at least MacMillan will stay safe, thought Price.

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the rumbling grew violent and figures appeared into view, all calmly walking towards them. And behind them came the tanks.

Lumbering slowly up the grassy hill, the two BMP-2s provided excellent support for the patrol, it's 30mm main cannon protruding out in front of everybody else. However, Price's eye line was not directed at the cannon. The main cannon would be useless in this type of situation. Instead, Price focused below the BMP's amphibious outer cover, at the wheel tracks. If one track made contact with his body...

Price concentrated on the tracks of the BMP-2 coming straight at him and tried to anticipate it's path. He shifted, slowly, to his left. It was now too late to get up and run, as the patrol was within 25 feet from him.

"Easy, lad. There's too many of them, let them go. Keep a low profile and hold your fire." MacMillan's reassuring voice buzzed in Price's headset.

"Yes, sir." Price replied as quietly as possible.

The lieutenant watched as the enemies closed in, and saw looks of boredom and aloofness in their faces. What if the patrol found bodies later on?

"Try to anticipate their paths." MacMillan said, with a touch of determined grit in his voice.

Price still had no idea where the captain was, and strained his eyes forward to notice one Nationalist in a gas mask wielding an RPD light machine gun striding slowly forward, straight at him.

"If you have to maneuver, do it slow and steady. No quick movements." Captain MacMillan said, his voice low as possible.

Price began to shift his left leg a few more inches to the left. Then his right leg. He stayed still and took a few deep breaths. His ghillie suit was becoming sweaty, but Price could do nothing to make himself feel better.

He looked up, and saw Gas Mask was still walking towards him on a verge of a collision path.

Bloody hell, thought Price, what did I do to deserve this?

Price wiggled his left leg a few more inches to the left, and began to move his right leg when he felt a tug.

His right boot was stuck in the dirt.

This is going to be a problem, he thought, and tried to wriggle it free.

The gas mask soldier was within ten feet from him, and Price tried one last desperate attempt to free his foot before lying still, breathing heavily.

Price felt the vibration of the ground against his chest, and closed his eyes. If he was going to die bravely, this was probably it. Price counted imaginary sheep in his head, and mentally went over his life. His home. His wife. His kids. His couch. His favorite food. His favorite national team.

Price felt a boot brush over his right thigh, and opened his eyes in surprise. The enemy soldier had barely missed stepping on him, and he was still alive. Now to see if Captain MacMillan made it.

"Okay, let's move. Nice and slow."

"Glad to hear your voice, sir," Price spoke into his headset, greatly relieved.

"You too." MacMillan replied, his voice as stoic as ever.

Price crawled and kept crawling. He looked behind him and watched as the patrol and BMP-2s gratefully disappeared around a grassy bend.

He turned back forward and addressed his other thought to the captain.

"Where are you?" he asked.

A sizable lump of grass and leaves rose up right in front of him, and Price found himself looking up admiringly. MacMillan had been in his view the entire time.

"As you were told earlier, we'll be impossible to spot in our ghillie suits. I think it's safe enough to stand up now. Follow me."

Price got up and followed the captain down the grassy knoll. They reached what looked to be like a dead riverbank. Wreckage of tanks and helicopters strewn the area. The two men hid behind one of the wrecked tanks, and MacMillan peered over and watched as two Nationalists were throwing dead bodies into the murky river.

"Looks like they've already eliminated the men they couldn't buy out." MacMillan observed. "Let's move up for a better view."

MacMillan and Price left their cover and moved closer, hiding behind a yellow bulldozer. MacMillan peered over at the two Nationalists and then at two other enemy soldiers about seventy meters away, patrolling idly.

"Taking them out without alerting the rest isn't going to be easy," said Captain MacMillan, "But then again, neither is sneaking past them."

Price surveyed the scene and quickly scanned the distance between the patrolling men and the gravediggers.

"Your call." MacMillan said, nudging Price with one shoulder.

Price crouched and gently lift his M21 sniper rifle to his face, peering through the scope. He positioned his sniper rifle between a small gap in the lifter of the bulldozer, and watched closely as the two patrolling men continued their pace.

He waited until the men were further distanced, and took aim at the one in the back. If Price could take this man down first, the other wouldn't be able to notice until it was too late.

Price held his breath and fired. The silenced shot ripped through the man's chest and he fell without a sound. The lieutenant quickly swiveled to aim at the other soldier, intent on taking him out before anything went wrong.

Puff.

The other soldier grasped his shoulder and cried out. However, his gas mask muffled his voice, and his comrades were too far away to hear him.

Puff.

The soldier's head jerked back and he disappeared into the long grass below.

"Target eliminated," MacMillan craned his head over at the last two enemy soldiers and made a motion, "Don't fire on the two by the lorry. We'll have to take them out at the same time. Wait for me to get into position."

Price acknowledged the order, and proceeded to reload his sniper rifle. MacMillan crawled a little further up the river.

"I'm in position. Take the shot when you're ready."

Price aimed and made sure his shot wouldn't miss. The two enemy soldiers continued to heave bodies into the river. Price took a breath and fired.

Barely a millisecond after he shot his bullet, MacMillan squeezed the trigger on his M21. Both bullets hit their targets.

"Good night." the captain said, satisfied.

The two camouflaged snipers followed the the river and approached a large sprawl of shipping crates. Price could hear Russian wafting out of the junkyard.

Sure enough, as they maneuvered into the area, a lone Nationalist was standing guard next to a crate, listening to the radio.

The two snipers stopped and hid behind a crate. MacMillan kneeled and watched the Russian, thinking. They stayed in that position for a while, and Price offered to shoot him.

MacMillan stayed still for a moment, as if having a conflict in his mind. Finally, he held a hand out to keep Price back.

"Stay low, he's mine."

Price was about to say "What?" when MacMillan got up and sneaked his way behind the soldier.

"Oi, Suzy!" MacMillan said in a hushed voice.

The captain's retort did not come through Price's headset, but drifted into Price's ears. The Russian Nationalist heard it to, for he started to turn. MacMillan ran up to the bastard and clipped him with his concealed knife.

"Bloody hell," Price said, stunned. He slowly got up to his feet and inspected the body.

MacMillan loomed over him.

"That's how it's done," he said, "Let's go."

And with that, the two lone snipers were off once again.


End file.
